


The Void

by Niniel_Kirkland



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Inspired by Stranger Things (TV 2016), M/M, Multi, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Stranger Things AU, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24287626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niniel_Kirkland/pseuds/Niniel_Kirkland
Summary: Brooklyn, 1983. First, Natasha had disappeared. A few days later, on his way home, Steve had found this traumatized teenager, scared to death and with a metal arm, fleeing from something -or someone. Figuring out Bucky is his best lead to Natasha, they start investigating. And Steve discovers Bucky’s unbelievable abilities as they dig deeper into his past…
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 11
Kudos: 15





	1. The Vanishing of Natasha Romanoff

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: 
> 
> \- The Void is a song by Muse.  
> \- this is a Stranger Thins AU. However, the plot is not the same, I just borrow a few narrative and setting features. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Playlist to this story: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4wncNvqhClYSagzgwIwnCr?si=hLRS2p4xT_2GKRJtMY_Jew

_They’ll say no one will find us_

_That we’re estranged and all alone_

_They believe nothing can reach us_

_And pull us out of the boundless gloom_

_They’re wrong._

The Void

_Brooklyn, March 1983._

Chapter I: The Vanishing of Natasha Romanoff

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When Steve’s gaze left the TV screen as the credits went on, he looked to his left on the couch and smiled. He could not believe how weak Natasha was when it came to movies, she would always end up falling asleep. When Steve was the one to pick the movie, he could understand. But today, on this lovely rainy Sunday afternoon, Natasha had picked _Star Wars_ , which was a movie she _liked_ and yet… Yet here she was, snoring on Steve’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

She opened one eye.

“Oh dear. Is it over yet?”

“Yes, very much over.”

“Shit.”

She got up from the couch and carefully folded the flannel blanket Steve had wrapped her into halfway through the movie.

“Who ate all the popcorn?” She asked with a knowing smile.

“Hum… Same little leprechaun as every Sunday, I guess,” Steve retorted. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“Oh, no, thank you. They’re waiting for me at home. Your mom is here with you tonight, right?”

“Yes, she is. Don’t worry.”

“Alright. Thank you for the afternoon, Steve.”

He smiled, she kissed him on the cheek, and they walked across the living room to get to the door.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Steve asked, already knowing she’d refuse, but he kept asking every time she came over.

“So that I walk you home afterwards and _vice versa_ for ever? Come on, Steve! I’ll be careful, promise.”

“Fine. Just call me when you’re home, okay?”

“Yes! Might forget, though.”

Steve smiled, rolling his eyes. She opened the door and walked out with one last wave.

“See you tomorrow!”

Steve watched her disappear in the stairs of his apartment building, then he closed the door and went to his mom’s room, waking her up gently from her nap. She was a nurse and sometimes – most of the time – she was working the night shift and needed some rest during the following day. As she got up, Steve offered to cook dinner. Sarah smiled gently and refused:

“Thank you, Darling. I don’t feel that miserable, don’t worry.”

Steve faked to be outraged, but they both laughed. He followed his mother to the kitchen and started washing the dishes instead, while Sarah peeled some carrots and potatoes to the sound of U2’s new album that had quickly become Steve’s favourite.

.

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.

Once Steve had brushed his teeth and put on some loose pants, he slid under the warmth of his sheets to read a bit before going to sleep. It was only halfway through the fifth chapter of Hemingway’s _A Farewell To Arms_ that he realised Natasha had not phoned to tell him she was home.

Once again. That happened quite frequently. They usually spent their Sunday afternoons at Steve’s, playing board games or watching movies, sometimes doing homework. Either way, Natasha was often running late to get home for dinner and often forgot to call Steve. So he figured she had forgotten today too, surely she must have had dinner right away with her adoptive family and been busy with something else afterwards.

Anyway. What could possibly happen to her on the ten minutes walk between Steve’s apartment and her house?

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.

.

But the next day, Natasha didn’t show up to chemistry class. Steve worried a bit, but not too much. Maybe she had not heard her alarm clock, or she wasn’t feeling so well. But she didn’t show up for second period either.

“It’s weird from her,” Sam noted during the break. “She’s a badass, she can’t get sick overnight!”

“It was raining yesterday when she left,” Steve suggested.

But he was growing a bit worried himself. When he saw Tony Stark walking toward them, he thought that they were maybe about to get an explanation. Why would Tony, aka King Tony of the Senior Year, even bother to come and talk to them Juniors just to give them updates on Natasha though? Considering his facial expression, Sam was thinking the exact same thing as Steve.

“Hi Rogers.”

“Tony,” he replied.

“Where’s Natasha? Did, hm… Did she sleep over at your house yesterday? And forgot to tell my parents as it so often happens?”

“No… No, I don’t know where she is. She left by 7, I’d say.”

“Well… She didn’t get home last night.”

Steve felt worry rising in his lungs. He tried to breathe, tried to bury his asthmatic response to anxiety before it even arose – with questionable success. 

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, believe me. My dad is quite an expert of surveillance. He knows exactly who enters and leaves his home, at any time. So yeah, I’m positive.”

“Then I- I don’t know…”

“Maybe Clint would know?” Sam intervened. “Yes, hello, Stark.”

“Who’s Clint?” Tony retorted, furrowing his brows.

“A _friend_. Of Nat’s. I’ll ask him, we have maths class together after recess.”

“Alright. Keep me updated.”

“Sure. And you’re welcome!” Steve added as Tony was walking away.

Sam sighed disdainfully.

“God, how I hate his attitude. Poor Nat,” He added.

“Yeah. Let’s hope she hasn’t got herself in worst troubles than an asshole adoptive brother.” Steve mumbled.

When the school bell rang, students gathered in the buildings. Sam and Steve parted, each heading towards a different classroom. Steve had hoped to spot Clint in the hallways to speak to him before their maths class started but being one of the smallest Juniors made it hard for him to really see anyone above the crowd between Steve and his classroom.

As he was walking through the halls, his breath became shorter with each step he was taking, as if the crowd of students had gathered in the tiny spot that was his chest to trample on his lungs. He took deep breaths in, as deep as he could, but the anxiety had kicked in for real and all these loud people around him made it even worse.

Steve had never thought that one day, he would be happy to reach math class. At least, it was quiet, and only five students had arrived at this point. He mumbled a “good morning sir” at his teacher, which came out as if he had just run a marathon, and sat down at his usual place.

“Steve?” a voice whispered behind him.

He turned to face a dark blond-haired boy wearing a bomber jacket, sitting right behind Steve’s desk. Clint. The last person who could save him from a complete freak out. For a second, Steve had forgotten who he was looking for and why.

“Are you okay?” Clint asked.

Steve took a deep breath, hoping no one else was hearing his heart thumping.

“Yes… It’s nothing.”

“Ok… Take it easy, pal.”

Steve nodded.

“Clint… Have you heard from Natasha yesterday?”

“Hum? No, we spoke on the phone Saturday but nothing since… Why?”

Steve’s heart suddenly felt heavier than ever.

“She didn’t come home last night. And she didn’t show up this morning.” He whispered. “We were hoping she was with you but didn’t tell the Starks…”

“Oh my god.” Clint said, shocked. “Oh my god! But how – We need to – ”

“Alright. So as you can read on the board, today we’ll go over the limits of functions. Open your books at page 234, please. Clint, hush please! Page 234.”

The class started and Steve was pretty sure he wouldn’t make it to the end of the period.

.

.

.

Steve wouldn’t have known what it was like to be either drunk-wasted or high. But math class passed in the same sort of haze, like he had reached a point where too much anxiety was running in his blood and he could no longer be aware of his surroundings. He barely saw or heard the class, let alone noticed its ending. It’s only when Clint started talking to him again that he realized that the whole period was over.

“We need to go to the police,” he whispered.

“Oh my god… Yes, hum… I should probably go with the Starks after school.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“They don’t know who you are. They don’t even know Natasha’s got a boyfriend!”

“I don’t plan on hiding it any longer.” Clint said, shrugging. “What do you think the cops would think of a hidden boyfriend no one has heard about in a missing girl investigation?”

“Yeah, you’re right…”

“Hurry. We gotta go to Miss Carter’s classroom. She hates when we’re late.”

Steve nodded, and they gathered their stuff before heading to history class. It was supposed to be Steve’s favourite, but nothing raised his interest on that day. He was so worried about Natasha that he could have run away from school to start looking for her in every damn neighbourhood of New York City if he had to.

.

.

.

“Steve? May I have a word, please?” Miss Carter asked him to stay as he was heading out of the room after an hour of barely understanding what she was saying about the Great Depression.

Steve looked at Clint, who was a few feet ahead. He nodded and waited for him right next to the door.

“Is everything alright? I noticed you weren’t focused today. It’s quite unusual from you, so I was wondering… You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Yes, Miss Carter, I know. I – ”

He didn’t know, actually. Was it his secret to tell? He knew that he could trust Miss Carter more than any other teacher. But still. Maybe the Starks wouldn’t want Steve to tell anything before they went to the police… Then Steve pictured Sam telling him “To hell with those Starks!” and he decided to talk.

“It’s about Natasha,” he started.

“Yes, she wasn’t here today. Is she sick?”

“We don’t know. Well, we don’t think so.”

“What is it, then?”

“We think she might be… In– In trouble. We think something bad happened to her. She didn’t get home last night. Nobody knows where she is.”

Steve was about to cry. Miss Carter smiled sympathetically.

“It’s okay, Steve. You can cry if you need to. When is the last time you heard of her?”

“She left my mom’s flat at 7 p.m. last night. We watch movies on Sundays,” he explained, smiling softly even though his eyes were full of tears.

“Come with me, I’ll write a note for your other classes. I’ll phone the Starks.” The teacher said. “We’ll meet them at the police station. We will find her, Steve, I promise. We _will_ find her.”

She gathered her paper sheets and pens in her leather satchel and headed to the door. Noticing Clint right outside the classroom, she exclaimed:

“Clint! You’re still here? Don’t you have lunch to eat or something at this hour?”

“I’m Natasha’s boyfriend, Miss. I’m really worried about her.”

Peggy Carter sighed.

“Alright. Come with me, both of you.”

Steve caught up with them in the hallways.

“I need one of you to find Tony Stark and bring him to my office in five minutes.”

“You go?” Steve suggested to Clint.

“He doesn’t know who I am,” he shrugged.

Steve sighed. Clint was right, though he would have preferred not to walk into Tony Stark surrounded by all his friends at lunch time.

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbled.

And he took a different path, which became a little bit more crowded as he was approaching the canteen. He was already feeling panic rising in his chest at the idea of entering it _alone_ for everyone to see. But then he saw them. Sam, and Tony. _Together_ , next to the canteen entrance, standing awkwardly without a word. Sam cracked into a smile when he recognized Steve from afar.

“Steve! What on earth took you so long? We were waiting for you.”

The blond boy hurried up a little, closing the distance between him and the two others.

“Any news?” Tony asked, visibly worried and dying to hear good news.

“No. Clint hasn’t heard from her since Saturday. I told Miss Carter… She’s waiting for us in her office. She’ll phone your parents and arrange for us to go to the police.”

“Alright. I guess it’s better not to waste any more time.” Tony agreed.

“We’d better hurry then,” Steve concluded, and he started walking in the opposite direction.

Sam caught up with him.

“How long have you been stuck with him?” Steve whispered to him.

“Long enough for it to be really awkward,” Sam replied. “Next time, I’ll come for you after class.”

They quickly reached Miss Carter’s office. The door was open, and they entered. It was a little room dimly lit by a high little window. The four walls were covered in books, either on shelves or piling up at a dangerous height. In the middle, a wooden desk covered in papers to grade, tests, a telephone and books again. Behind the plaque that read _Margaret Carter_ , the history teacher was sitting on her leather chair. Clint was standing next to the desk, tensed.

“Hello, Miss Carter,” Sam and Tony greeted her as one, before exchanging surprised looks.

“Hello, boys. Please, sit down. I don’t have any spare chairs I’m afraid,” she added, gesturing towards the two wooden chairs before her desk.

Clint didn’t move, Sam stepped back. Tony and Steve sat down.

“Tony, I need your parents’ phone number. Which one is it possible to reach at this hour?”

“With my father, you never know… Try my mum. She doesn’t teach before the afternoon and I guess she stayed home in case Natasha comes back.

“Alright. Give me the number.”

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.

.

On this fine, not so grey Monday morning, Dr Arnim Zola parked his car in front of his office building. He ate his croissant on the way, taking a sip from his to-go coffee every three or four steps. In the hallways, pallid neon light almost blinded him. There was no way to get used to that visual aggression, no matter for how many years he had entered the building every morning – he had lost count.

He greeted a few people passing by. He had finished his croissant and thrown away his empty paper cup by the time he reached an armoured door on the fifth floor. He knocked, following the usual pattern, and announced himself.

“Hey, kid. I’m coming in.”

No answer from the other side of the door.

“Kid?”

Maybe he had overslept. Zola shrugged, unlocked the door and entered the tiny room. Neon lights again. Except they were lighting an empty room. That was definitely _not_ supposed to be empty.

“Holy shit.”

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	2. The Weirdo On Clinton Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to have kept you waiting! Thank you so much for the positive feedback on chapter 1, I hope you'll like this one as well!

Chapter II: The Weirdo on Clinton Street

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It was unrealistic for a regular student to wake up in the morning, go to school and end up in a police station with a teacher by lunchtime. But yet again, it looked like Steve, Clint, Sam and Tony needed to quit regarding themselves as regular students.

The police station was a crowded little grey building. After half an hour in the overheated waiting room, Steve was feeling too exhausted to even panic. His mind had become completely blank. Next to him, the three other teenagers were looking so tensed that it was no use starting a conversation – they were all too moody for small talk. Mrs. Stark, sitting next to Tony, was so worried that she constantly looked as if she was about to burst into tears. It was a tiny silver lining: Natasha was often saying that she felt like a burden to the Stark family. If – or _when_ , Steve corrected himself – they were to find Natasha, he would make sure to tell her how her foster mother was worried about her, as she would have been for her own child.

The only person to remain calm and – apparently – a tad sane was Miss Carter, who was sitting beside Steve. When he looked in her direction, she would give him a reassuring smile. She had already been fetching some coffee for the kids and the Starks once. But the paper cups were now empty and, as she watched the cops running in circles around them with no apparent progress whatsoever, she started to run out of patience. She stood up and walked to the receptionists’ desk and flashed them her brightest smile. Using her most polite British accent, she asked:

“May I borrow the telephone for a second? I promise I won’t be long.”

Without waiting for an answer from a receptionist, she took the telephone and dialled a number. After a few seconds of silence, she started speaking.

“Nicholas Joseph Fury. Hi. It’s Peggy. Yes, Peggy Carter. Yes. Listen, I’m right here in the waiting room of your office with four of my students and one of their mothers. One of my kids is missing. Would you please be so kind as to get your ass over here and take our case? Thank you!”

She hung up, and Steve was pretty sure nobody on the other side of the line or around her had had the time to process what had just happened. But Miss Carter walked back to her seat next to him with a content smile, counting to ten out loud. On her “ten.” a black police officer entered the waiting room.

He was impressive. Tall, broad, muscular, shaved head, a patch on one eye which meant, Steve thought, that he had lost it in a very dark episode of his police officer career. He seemed ready to murder anyone right there and Steve felt as if he was shrinking on his seat, turning even smaller in his presence.

“Peggy Carter and the kids. In my office, right now.”

No one dared to answer. The four teenagers stood up all at once, Mrs Stark took a moment to collect herself and follow them to the Detective Investigator’s office.

It was a reasonably large room, barely decorated. In the middle, a large desk covered in files. Three boards on the walls were pinned with investigations matter: pictures, rapports, pieces of press articles, handwritten sticky notes. Steve had never entered an investigator’s office before, and he would have been impressed, if only his best friend was not missing.

“Did I interrupt anything?” Peggy Carter asked.

“Nothing that couldn’t be postponed or handed to my team. To be honest, your kid could be too, Peggy. Except it’s _your_ student and you won’t give me any chance to refuse the case, am I right?”

“Yes, you are!” Peggy retorted. “I don’t really trust cops. You’re the only one I want to find Natasha. She disappeared last night in the neighbourhood.”

“The entire motherfucking neighbourhood went crazy overnight,” Fury mumbled. “Everyone, sit down.”

They gathered in front of the desk as well as they could. Fury switched on a tape recorder and said the date and hour out loud before asking each of them to tell their names and professions, in the women’s case.

“Miss Carter, why are you here?” he asked.

His voice sounded way more professional since the recording started.

“My student, Natasha Romanoff, vanished last night. She was last seen by Steve at his apartment. She was supposed to go home to the Starks. She didn’t make it. No one has heard of her since yesterday evening, around 7 pm, when she left Steve’s apartment.”

“Can everyone tell me how they’re related to Natasha Romanoff and her vanishing? Mrs Stark, you start.”

The woman nodded and took a deep breath, knowing that her voice would shake.

“I’m Natasha’s adoptive mother. Well, she… She never accepted that we – my husband and I – that we officially adopt her. We are more like a… Foster family. But she’s like our daughter anyway.”

“Where are her parents?”

“We… We don’t know for sure.” She answered, looking suspiciously at the recorder.

Fury raised an eyebrow. Tony awkwardly cleared his throat but didn’t say anything. In fact, _he_ didn’t know where Nat’s parents were, but he was quite convinced his parents knew. His father _definitely_ knew, and if Howard knew; Maria was most likely to be aware of it too. Ten years earlier, Howard had come home from an inquiry, with this little red-haired girl. He had just stopped by on his way to an orphanage run by the government, but needed a few minutes home to pull himself together, to remind himself of the fact that he was not actually a bad man, that he was just doing his job. And Maria had talked with the little girl a bit, who didn’t speak very good English at the time. But she seemed to like Maria, and Maria had loved her instantly. Tony was playing with his little racing cars and had not paid much attention to the kid. Little did he know that a few weeks later, out of guilt perhaps – but he wanted to believe it was something else – Howard would start a procedure for the Starks to foster little Natasha.

It’s only years later, when he read about McCarthyism and its current echoes, that Tony figured out what must have truly happened to the Romanoffs. He could only imagine though. But Howard had to know. When he had tried to confront him about it, he had denied everything.

“Tony?”

“Yeah, well. I’m Natasha’s foster brother.”

“I’m her history teacher.” Miss Carter said.

Clint cleared his throat.

“And I’m, er – Her boyfriend.”

The two Starks turned to him, eyes wide opened in surprise. That had to be the most awkward way to meet your in-laws.

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.

Steve felt exhausted when they eventually left the police station in the middle of Brooklyn. The deposition had lasted the entire afternoon, for small progress in the end. Or at least Steve had the feeling that it had led nowhere, that it had been a waste of time. He did not know anything about legal procedures though, since TV shows could not be trusted. He had no idea of what he expected when entering that police station – maybe that Natasha would magically reappear right when they would leave the room, or something like that.

No. Reality was always so disappointing… And right now, he was too exhausted to even feel outraged by this disappointment. He only wished for one thing: going home, where he would sleep as long as he could. Maybe when he would wake up the next morning, all of this would have ended like some incredibly long nightmare that still vanishes when you open your eyes, eventually.

Mrs Stark offered to drop Clint, Sam and Steve off, but they all kindly declined. Clint was especially eager to walk home, reassuring everyone – it was not far from the police station – and Steve vaguely thought that he must have dreaded _the_ talk that would most likely have ensued had he been left alone with the Starks. Tony and Maria greeted them outside their car, and the teenagers walked Miss Carter to the metro station before heading to their neighbourhood.

“I can’t believe what’s happening,” Clint said after a while of heavy silence.

“We don’t know what’s happening,” Sam blatantly retorted.

“Even then, today has been crazy enough.”

“Yeah.”

As they were getting closer to Steve’s street, they spotted more and more cops and police cars. Steve figured that they were searching for Natasha “already” and had started their investigation on Nat’s usual way between Steve’s and the Starks’, as he had showed Fury on a map of Brooklyn. At least, that looked like tiny progress.

“You okay, Steve?” Sam asked.

The boy nodded. They reached his apartment building and he greeted them, shoving his hand in his duffle coat’s pocket to find his keys.

“See you tomorrow?” Clint asked.

“We’ll see about that,” he retorted.

“Ok. Take care, buddy.”

He nodded again. They smiled and left while he was unlocking the front door. He mindlessly waited for the elevator to come down and take him upstairs. As soon as he entered the flat, the emotional exhaustion rushed back and he felt like crying for days in a row, powerless and useless and empty. His mother was away, working the night shift again. Steve went to his room, left his coat and schoolbag next to his desk, and collapsed on his bed.

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On the next day, Steve vaguely remembered his mum asking him if he was alright in the morning, as she didn’t hear him getting ready for school. He gave an even vaguer answer, still half asleep, and informed her that he would miss school that day. Since Steve had never been the kind of kid to skip school intentionally unless he felt seriously unwell, Sarah had let him be.

The day passed by in a sort of blurry haze for Steve, who barely left his bed. Hours felt endless and then suddenly three hours had gone by without Steve noticing. He didn’t care much though. Until his clock rang half past three in the afternoon.

“Holy f –!”

He got out of bed and ran to the bathroom, hastily brushing his teeth while searching for a clean t-shirt that didn’t smell as bad as the one he had slept in. Then he grabbed a jacket, found his shoes, and ran to the flat’s door.

It had been a few years since he had started helping at his local bookstore, which was owned by a retired scientist named Mr. Erskine. Steve had always loved that place, and when the old man had started to look for helpers, he had volunteered. Since then, he had worked there during the holidays, weekends and on some afternoons during the week. On Tuesdays afternoon for example, as Steve finished school early and Mr. Erskine attended lectures at university. As he always said, it was “never too late to learn something new”.

As it was Steve’s first job, he was learning a fair bit with Mr. Erskine as well. Over the years, Steve had proven to be a reliable employee. The owner had been giving him responsibilities such as managing the store on his own for a few hours when he was away and he trusted him enough to count the receipts at the end of the day and close up by himself.

Steve was proud of the responsibilities that had been bestowed upon him and he usually felt at home in the old bookshop. Surprisingly enough, the few moments when Steve let go of his sickening shyness happened at the bookstore. Arranging bookshelves. Selling books. Giving advice to customers. Helping them pick their next read or a gift for a loved one. Getting to know the usual clients. It had been like playing a role at first, which sure helped him to cope with the fact that he was _interacting with strangers all the time_. But now he was very much enjoying it and every hour spent at the New Chapter bookshop was a precious moment. In fact, Mr Erskine had become, without Steve noticing it, a father figure he had not realised he needed. And the bookshop, its everlasting smell of coffee and books, usually felt like a safe place, a second home where he belonged.

But today it didn’t. Steve’s heart was heavy and countless hours spent in bed had obviously done nothing for his anxiety regarding Natasha, nor his feeling of being powerless and useless when his friend needed him the most.

.

.

.

It was pouring and dark when Steve closed the bookstore that evening. He locked the front door, already soaked. In his precipitation to arrive on time for his shift, he had obviously forgotten his umbrella at home. He cursed out loud, angry at the sky and those dark clouds, but mostly mad at himself. He could not run home, nor even walk faster than usual, because one: he would be out of breath in a minute and would not last the distance. Second: he was already clumsy enough while walking in daylight, often trapping in his own feet or bumping into someone or something on the street. Now picture him running at night in the pouring rain. He mumbled as he started to walk the way home.

After what seemed an eternity, he reached his apartment building. Finding his keys in his pocket, he didn’t immediately notice a dark shape on the ground, next to the door. But the noise of the key in the lock startled it. Startled _him_. Two bright, scared to death eyes in a pale face emerged and stared at Steve, who jumped with fright as he saw them.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed.

From the half-opened door, some light from the entrance hall fell upon him. It was a young boy, sitting on the doorstep, probably his shelter from the rain. And he looked terrified. He was shaking, still staring at Steve, who didn’t know what to do. The reasonable thing to do when facing a stranger in the night was to run away, and Steve could easily have sneaked in the building and used the elevator to get away from this strange boy as quickly as possible.

But Steve Rogers would never do that, especially since said boy truly looked terrible and petrified, and had obviously been through a lot fairly recently. He was as soaked as Steve, who guessed that his shaking was partly due to the cold sensation of his wet clothes on his skin, but mostly due to some fear or trauma he was experiencing right now. Steve’s heartbeat was still fast from the startling, but he inhaled deeply and kneeled in front of the boy.

“I’m sorry I screamed,” he finally said. “What are you doing here? Are you waiting for someone?”

The boy was still staring at him, and yet didn’t say anything. It took him a few seconds to react, as if he had needed extra time to process what Steve was asking. Maybe he didn’t speak English, Steve thought. But then, he shook his head no.

“Do you live here, then? Forgot your keys?”

It was an apartment building in Brooklyn, so obviously Steve didn’t know all his neighbours. But still, he had never seen that one in the building. Again, a few seconds later, the boy shook his head from left to right.

“Then… Do you need help? Are you lost?”

Finally, the boy nodded. Tears rose to his eyes and he whispered, so low that Steve almost mistook it for the sound of rain:

“Yes. I am in danger.”

 _Try to breathe, Stevie_.

“In danger how?”

No answer from the boy. But he bent two fingers and pointed the others at his head. A finger gun. Steve started to freak out again, and he looked over his shoulder suspiciously.

“Alright, let’s talk inside, ok?” He suggested, trying to remain calm – he failed.

He got up and gave his hand to the boy to get him on his feet. Their fingers touched. But instead of the expected softness of skin, Steve felt cold. The boy’s fingers were as cold as ice. Or more precisely, cold as steel.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, feel free to write a comment! Feedback is, as always, highly appreciated ;)  
> Take care everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Please consider leaving a comment so that I can improve for the following chapters!


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